


Routine

by the_shadow_bast



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Couple, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Pre-Fall of Overwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 00:09:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_shadow_bast/pseuds/the_shadow_bast
Summary: Routine is something that Gabriel Reyes is very much familiar with– from SEP to Blackwatch, he's experienced some form of it one way or the other.He just doesn't like it when it happens in his dreams.





	Routine

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated mostly to a buddy of mine – you dork if you're reading this you know who you are, this is for you!
> 
> Anyway, please leave some reviews! This is my first time publicly publishing an OW fanfic so a bit of criticism would be nice

The mission was over.

This is his least favourite thing to do, since it was irritatingly tedious and boring. Despite that, he lets the energy under his skin fizzle as he treks through the ruins of what used to be an office building. The plaster and concrete crunched under his boots, and some steel would whine under the pressure of his foot. He carefully stepped over some twisted wires and avoided the flickers of open wirings as he scanned the vicinity for survivors.

He almost misses the shift of the rubble.

But he does, and he makes quick work to get to the spot. The shift was minimal, but his SEP-enhanced senses were quick to spot the little shift. He jumped over rubble and twisted around boulders as he got to the person, eyeing the arm that stuck out as it struggled to get its owner out of the rubble.

“Is there anyone there?” The voice is hoarse, scratched with the dust that probably in its owner’s lungs. Gabriel does not recognize it to be one of his men, and slows a bit as he made his way to the survivor. He slowly unclipped his shotgun from its place on his belt before facing the survivor.

There wasn’t supposed to be any survivors.

“N-No! No, stop! Spare me!” The man is desperate as he tries to scramble out of the rubble, away from the 6-foot nightmare in front of him. Gabriel tries to feel pity for the man, to feel a bit of mercy and spare him from his orders.

“Say hello to God for me.” It’s the closest he can get to giving the man mercy, before levelling the shotgun to his head and pulling the trigger.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up alone.

The bed sheet under him is soaking wet as he closes his eyes, fisting the comforter above him and gripping his beanie with his other hand. He gropes around for the man who was supposed to be beside him, searching for the comfort he needed to get himself back on his feet.

The other side of the bed is already cold.

He forced his eyes open to stare at the rumpled sheets and pillow beside him, already cold from abandon. Of course he shouldn’t have expected Jack to be there; didn’t he have a video conference with Director Petras that morning? He couldn’t help the drop of his stomach as he forced himself off the bed, away from the soaked bed sheets and away from the bed he used to share with his husband.

With Blackwatch suspended, all the work he had to do was expected to be piled up on his desk by the time he steps foot into his office. He grimaced at the thought and tugged off his shirt, making his way to the shower to wash off the sweat that cooled on his skin.

Lately, his routine is purely eat, train, sleep, repeat.

The water is soothing on his muscles, washing away the edges of sleep and the nightmare that came with it. He doesn’t really need to stay long in it, he’s going to end up sweaty anyways and the proper washing should be done after the workout. Despite that, he couldn’t help staying under the stream of water for half an hour, staring at the water swirling at the drain before disappearing.

If he isn’t thinking hard enough, he could see the mission’s dirt and grime mixing into it.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel knows that Jesse is there as he pounded his fists into the punching bag.

The kid’s been like that lately, watching his compatriots go about their day with keen interest. It wasn’t really stalking when his presence is usually comforting, near invisible at times. Today must be the day he takes particular interest in his commander, because here he was leaning on the wall and watching him beat the hell out of the bag.

Music played in the background, probably something an agent placed into the speakers. It was nice and upbeat, good workout music to listen to if Gabriel were to be asked.

_Sparks will fly, they ignite our bones_

_And when they strike we light up the world_

“Do you want something, McCree?” He asked over the beats of the music, slowing his punches to turn properly at the kid. Why he’s wearing his ridiculous hat in the facility was beyond him, but he can’t question him. He wears a beanie around the headquarters, anyway.

“Ya pissed ‘bout somethin’, boss?” Jesse drawled from his place on the wall, arms crossed as he regarded his commander. “Ye look ‘n act like Morrison destroyed yer shotguns or somethin’.”

He cannot help the scowl on his face at the thought of his husband ruining his beloved shotguns, and turned back to beat up the punching bag once more.

“None of your business, McCree.”

“So it’s somethin’ bad, then?” He had the audacity to raise both of his eyebrows at his commander as he watched him work. “Ya know, boss, talkin’ it out with Angie might do ya–“

“How about you fuck off and bother someone else, McCree?” He cannot help but snap at the kid as he stopped and turned to him. There’s silence between them as Jesse remained eerily placid, before he nods and pushes himself off the wall.

“See ya ‘round, boss.” Without another word, he turns and leaves the training room. Gabriel can only stare at the place the kid was before he yelled in frustration, turning to give the punching bag a harsh blow.

He can’t bring himself to say that the kid was fucking _right._

 

* * *

 

 

He dreams again, the same mission and the same scenario.

This time, though, something’s different about the atmosphere around him. There’s something sharp to it, almost pungent by the way it makes his nose twitch. He can only venture forward in search of survivors, senses sharp with looking for movement and listening for noises.

As usual, he sees the minor shift of rubble. He’s sprinting to the movement before he can think of it, shotgun already out as the man tries to lift himself off of the rubble.

He’s staring back at Jack.

There’s a part in him that’s screaming and howling as he looks at Jack. His sunshine hair was matted with blood and concrete dustings, and sharp red lines cut through his sunshine face. His cornflower blues stared up at Gabriel with desparation as he reached for the man’s hand.

“Gabe– please, stop.” The words are different here, a different kind of desperation. Gabriel is fighting his muscles to put down his gun, to haul off the rubble on him and pull him free.

But he only levels his shotgun and speaks the damned words. “Say hello to God for me.”

 

* * *

 

 

He’s woken up by a warm body pressing against him.

Gabriel doesn’t realize he’s in tears until a gentle thumb is pressing them away from his face. He looks up to see Jack, who looked every bit like the weary Strike Commander he was. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was beginning to turn white along the temples.

He doesn’t say anything and lets the man grip his face. There’s some comfort in the man’s wedding ring against his skin.

“Talk to me.” If only it were that easy. He can’t bring himself to say a word, can’t draw the necessary breath needed to tell him that in another life, in another world, the man before him was dead. He could only pull Jack into a hug and listen to the heartbeat that beat strongly against his ear, a reassurance that he was alive, alive, alive, _alive._

“It’s okay. Take all the time you need.” Jack’s cigarette roughened voice is nothing but velvet in his ears as he grasped him, a constant reassurance that he was alive. Gabriel could only muffle a sob he’s been trying to restrain as he tries to find it in himself to breathe. Jack leans down to press a kiss on his hairline, a light brush that was hardly there before murmuring. “I love you.”

Now, Gabriel was not a man of religion, but for once he prays.

 


End file.
